


Some Other Beginning

by ScrewzLooze



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:39:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrewzLooze/pseuds/ScrewzLooze
Summary: There’s a basketball court three blocks away from the apartment complex Jisung lives in, and he’s been spending all of his Sundays there since elementary school. Everyone on the block knows about him and he takes his reputation seriously. On one of those weekend days, he finds someone there he has never seen before. Although they start as friends, they turn out to be on rival teams.





	Some Other Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching videos of Jisung performing on stage and I wanted to write a story where I get to highlight his stage persona more. I thought a competitive sport could bring out the spark and passion he shows when he's on stage. (Coupled with Minho, even if Minho might not be the best at sports according to his recent athletic contributions at Isac :’D) There are some basketball terminologies popping up here and there but nothing excessive or confusing. ^^

 

With the early coming of dawn, there were scattered islands of light illuminating Minho's face. Behind the emerald hill and gray apartment complexes, the sun was escaping the horizon. Minho's eyes were closed, lids gold from the hues of the sunrise. He couldn't see Jisung trace his gaze over his chapped lips and lashes, but he knew Jisung was staring; he could feel it caress him wherever Jisung's eyes traveled. The corners of his mouth sprung into a knowing smirk at the phantomed touch and he felt the younger following its curve.

"Why don't you just say it?"

Jisung bit down on his bottom lip to suppress a smile in case Minho would choose that moment to look at him.

"Say what?"

Minho let out a groan, hoarse from scarce sleep, but said nothing more.

The stars were yet to fade; it was still too dark to make out much of anything around them. Minho's clothed back was warm against the cold concrete while Jisung was sitting on top of a basketball.

"We have to practice." Jisung replied instead of the _you are beautiful_ Minho was probably expecting. Even as it was true, he would rather walk through fire than to fuel the elder’s ego. Minho was so beautiful, it was upsetting Jisung. And he knew the day will come when he won't be able to keep his feelings a secret anymore, when it will overflow inside him, like all the other compliments and secrets that keep escaping him around Minho. He had been thinking about asking him on a date - but today, they had to practice.

"Then help me get up." Minho demanded in a voice deceptively soft.

"You did this last time. I'm not falling for it again." Last time, meaning last Sunday, when Minho flopped down and was heaving on the ground from exhaustion, asking Jisung to help him up but instead pulled the younger down. "When I ask you for a hug, you ignore me," Jisung chided, feigning hurt, "But somehow, when _you_ want one, it's now or never, and it has to look like an accident."

Minho's lids drifted open to look back at him in response. The warm glow of the sun as it flashed across his face in a stripe made it seem like his irises were made of bronze and rust.  He raised his hand up to his face as a shield, trying to fit the sun into his palm, and Jisung soaked up the sight, soaked up some of the gold leaking through the elder’s splayed fingers as if it was shining down on his own face, and his heart swelled. It wasn’t even seven in the morning yet and he already got himself railed up. This was going to be a long day, as usual.

"I won’t get up until you help me. So pretty please?" Minho finally spoke, dragging out the syllables, slow like poured syrup. His fingers curled, trapping the sun, before letting his arm fall back limply to his side. His voice was light and drowsy, and it morphed into the wind passing by.

Jisung couldn't hear him when the wind snatched the words away, but he could see it, in his coy gaze, by the slow fluttering of his lashes, in the reaching of his hands as he lifted them once more toward Jisung.

Jisung fought against the onslaught of longing that surged through him at the plea. But as always, he failed, and caved in anyway. Fighting against Minho was like trying not to drown in a flood. He got up, intertwining their fingers. Whatever the outcome will be, Minho's victorious grin, as wide as his eyes, was worth the risk of falling by every meaning of the word. It was hard to believe that just four months ago, this entire basketball court was Jisung's only, and he never dreamt of sharing the most sacred hours of his day with an _intruder_.

******____________________________________________________________**

Jisung’s hands trembled in his pockets the first time he was there.  
  


_“Column-free, the size of a standard football field, at least a 100 yards of uninterrupted space,”_ the _West Side Informant_ reported about a building meant to house a sports facility long before Jisung was born. But after its grounding work for the floor and the framing of the major walls was finished, the project ran out of funding and was never completed.

Roofless without functioning water pipelines, a “ _useless waste of space,”_ it was little more than a dry slab of concrete in the middle of the city’s West wing. In spite of the setbacks, it didn't take long before a group of locals decided to make the best of it, erecting two basketball goals on either of its end. For children in the neighborhood who saw its potential, the site became an ambitious project to make it their own paradise.

By the time Jisung was six years old, the people who knew of the place and grew up there had left the city for good or moved to another neighborhood. The foam that was stuffed between the lumber frames easily wore off from kids running up the walls and throwing their basketballs against it during their childhood years, leaving several gasps in the already airy structure for the morning and afternoon sunshine to peek through, or for the seasonal winds to whistle as they passed by the gaping, unfinished walls.

On a windy day in March while taking the wrong turn on his way home from school, Jisung's ears picked up on the faint whistles of the structure as if calling for him to take a look.

Only a first grader, he walked up to the crumbling building on shaky legs following a worn, mud-spattered path dirtying his favorite sneakers. It was overgrown enough to reach up above his knees, and he felt like the ends of the weed curled around his frame to pull him in deeper toward the ruins.  
  


Seated at the dinner table two hours before bedtime, he asked his mother the meaning of a series of profane curse words he found written on the walls. Blushing, his mother tried to change the subject, and Jisung agreed to let the topic go if she would buy him a basketball.

Not even a week later, he was back to the building. With chalk stolen from his first grade teacher’s classroom, he pressed the tiny green bits of it against the rough concrete, watching the grainy surface eat it away. He drew a center with a line dissecting it to indicate the middle, then a free throw line, a three-pointer arc, and the sidelines. Jagged and uneven, Jisung proudly observed the fruits of his labor, cheeks and fingertips stained a mossy green.

Over the years, he spent hours there trying to replicate cool dunks and tricks from last night's game, and invested every penny he got from the tooth fairy and his birthdays on professional jerseys. By his senior year of high school, the chalk on the ground was replaced with ink, the walls littered with profanities crumbled down, and the only remaining vertical surface was engraved with, " _J.One is king_ .” Upon showing the place to his friends, word got out that the place wasn't abandoned anymore. “ _Maybe that useless waste of space will still be useful to someone_ ,” reported an opinion column of _West Side Informant_ with a picture of a boy, no older than fourteen at the time of its taking, in a green jersey, aiming for the hoop a few feet from him as he stood in the middle of three decades worth of ruins. Jisung’s mother cut out and kept the photograph tucked away in her wallet, giving Jisung the rest of the newspaper for one of his school projects.

Even with the neighborhood well-aware of the functionality of the space after the article was published, it remained Jisung's personal paradise. He regularly cleaned up the trash piling up in the corners, swept and kicked away the leaves blown there by the wind, and kept the basketball goals in good condition.

Every parent who wanted to watch over their kids playing there on weekdays and every high school student with too much free time on their hands knew the unwritten rules - if it was Sunday, Jisung was there. He arrived early before the ringing of the church bells and stayed until he was close to passing out from not having eaten more than a bag of chips his father snuck inside his backpack. Groceries, churches, malls, restaurants, and parks were filled with people on Sundays, but never that small crumb of paradise tucked away, surrounded by a hill and a long block of hulking apartment complexes. There was not a single person visiting that Jisung couldn't name; there were no new faces.

So when he strolled down the street, always the same - two blocks to the right, one sharp turn to the left - he was shocked to see someone already working the hoops. With the four walls of the building completely demolished by the years and the weather, Jisung got a perfect view of the stranger breaking the _unwritten rule_.

Stilled by surprise, Jisung stayed frozen in place and watched as the stranger positioned the tips of his shoes to the curve of the three-point arc. Jisung frowned, remembering his part-time job of handing out brochures in the dead of winter so he could earn enough to have the court professionally painted. It was a humiliating job that paid very little, and it took over a year, but the results were _his_ forever. Or, so he thought, as the stranger raised his arms up, and although much of the boy's face was blurred by the distance, Jisung's mind filled in the blanks; he imagined furrowed brows in concentration under the long, brown bangs covering them, and rosy cheeks appropriate for a chilly Spring day.

There was a large, four-generation old tree a few feet from the court upon the hill, so Jisung walked up there and hid behind it, his gaze following the trail of the ball as it spun around the rim of the hoop twice before falling through it.

He felt a smile tug at his lips when the stranger let out a relieved, victorious shout, audible even from afar. As a Shooting Guard on his college team, if there was anyone who knew how hard and stressful throwing a three-pointer could be, especially under at least five spotlights and hundreds of curious eyes, some of whom were praying for him to miss it, then that was Jisung. It seemed like that this boy might be a guard like him, just a year or two older.

Only when the stranger began to chase after the quickly escaping ball did Jisung start to feel like a creep. In spite of the blush burning his face at the thought, he stayed and watched the boy attempt a few more throws, each successful, and Jisung found himself cheering along without meaning to, fingers curled into tight fists toward his chest.

It was a surreal thing to see someone, and _intruder_ , at his second home on a busy Sunday, playing there instead of him without giving Jisung any prior notice. He thought about interrupting the boy, maybe asking him to come back later, or on another day. But as he continued to watch him laugh to himself, filling the ruins with life, Jisung immediately gave up on the idea. Mesmerized by the stranger’s skills, Jisung convinced himself that the boy’s presence was a mistake that won’t happen again. So he left, finishing his Monday course assignment on time for once.

**____________________________________________________________**  

If Sunday was the day for Jisung to have the entire field to himself, then Thursday was the day for the team. Jisung didn't have any classes scheduled for Thursdays, so he and his team members spent the entirety of that day practicing. They fooled around more than actually practice, especially when their designated team leader couldn't make it, and Jisung was in charge.

If not for basketball, Jisung wouldn't have been able to pay for college. Out of the five of them on the team, he had a dedication and commitment to the game more than anyone. He always felt like he owed something to the game, for giving him a purpose and a chance to continue school. This game had taken a lot from him - he lost a lot of friends over the years who didn't understand what his passion meant to him. But the game gave him more than it took, including the friends he had now.

"Why would you pass the ball to Jisung when I'm right here?" Changbin, their Forward player, whined as usual. Changbin had the smallest frame out of all of them, which gave him the perfect competitive advantage for speed. He was the best at dribbling the ball fast, and was very good at intimidating the other players. He was always the guy to take one for the team, since as a forward player, he often got the fouls for his continuous attempts at tricking other players. He was great at layups and was one of the more strategic members in the team. It didn't take long until " _J. One is king_ " got painted over with " _SpearB rules_."

"Binnie, calm down. I just didn't see you!" Hyunjin replied, giving Changbin an apologetic smile. Hyunjin supplied the opposite of Changbin's strengths - he was the tallest member, which made him the perfect Center player.

"He could have passed it to me, too. Stop trying to appropriate Hyunjin." Woojin huffed, who was the other forward player beside Changbin. He had a stronger build and was able to shoot from almost any range. He guarded their basket from players on the other team who were too quick or strong for Changbin and Hyunjin.

"Stay focused, guys. We said we would practice for real until five, so for the last eight minutes, let’s keep our heads in the game." Instructed Chan, their Point Guard, better known as Jisung's best friend. He was the oldest out of the five aside from Woojin, and the first Jisung invited to this secret basketball court. Chan lead their team to greatness every time - he had the coldness and dedication to rewatch and monitor their old games over and over again until he knew their strength and weaknesses inside-out. If not for his and Changbin's encouragement, Hyunjin wouldn't have stayed with the team when the pressure got too much. And as an additional perk, he held a part-time job at one of the best pizzerias in the city, and the team always got to eat there for free if they won a match. It seemed to motivate Woojin the most.

It didn’t take long before the bantering eventually quieted down and they were able to continue. No one noticed when the clock struck past seven on their watches, but as the laughter began to blur into coughs and silent smiles, the team decided to end the game for the day.

They all slumped down onto the hard concrete, comfortably cool against their heated skin and cramped muscles.

"There was someone here last Sunday." Jisung began, still trying to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to bring it up, but he had been thinking and having mixed feelings about the stranger ever since, and he wanted to get it off his chest.

"Impossible." Woojin muttered, looking up at him from Chan's lap only for a second before resting his head back down.

"That's what I thought, too. But he was here, playing. I came back to check on him around four, and he was still running around as if he just started."

"If he doesn't know the rules, then he must be new." Hyunjin added, still aiming for the hoop with his tongue poking out.

"Right..." Jisung mumbled, clutching the basketball to his chest, wondering if the stranger would be there again, and how either of the two possible answers to that question would make him feel.

**____________________________________________________________**

The Sunday of the new week found Jisung prepared as he approached the court, once his private paradise, not so private anymore as the familiar stranger was there again. Jisung sighed to himself. There was really no way around it. He couldn’t miss another Sunday.

Jisung tried to greet him sooner but found himself distracted by the stranger’s quick footwork, which was all the more impressive considering that, if Jisung was right, the boy had no clue someone was watching him. He took it easy, and even then, he played well.

When he saw the stranger throw in another three-pointer, a sharp, approving whistle left Jisung’s lips. The stranger jolted at the sound that came seemingly out of nowhere, turning around toward the source. Jisung broke into a smile at the stunned expression greeting him, the kind of smile his friend liked to call _goofy_. Jisung wouldn't know, but it seemed to be friendly enough to make the other guy relax his shoulders.

Jisung carefully approached, stopping just a few feet away with his hands deep in his pockets to hide his nervousness.

"You play well." Jisung said, the cold seasonal wind pinching his cheeks red.

"Thanks." Was all the other guy said, about to turn around to continue playing, before he stopped himself. "Want to play?" He asked, throwing the ball toward Jisung to catch without waiting for a response.

Although Jisung wasn't expecting it, his reflexes were alert, and he caught the ball without trouble. The other boy smiled at that, and Jisung’s cheeks reddened once more, but not because of the weather this time.

He felt a familiar rush of adrenaline course through him, putting an extra spring in his steps as he twirled around the stranger, easily making a jump for the hoop.

"You are not bad yourself." The brown-haired boy complemented with a small smile. Jisung gave him another toothy grin before passing the ball back.

"I'm Jisung."

He knew that the stranger didn’t ask but it rolled off of his tongue naturally, as if the question had been hanging in the air all along.

The boy looked down at the ball clutched between his hands. "I'm Minho." He replied, spinning it on the top of his index finger for a few seconds to distract Jisung before making a run for the basket behind him.

"I've never seen you here before. Did you just move in?" Jisung asked, running after the ball as it rolled over to the lawn beside the field, dirt mixed with crumbled cement that was meant to solidify the walls while they still existed. He mouthed Minho’s name without giving it a sound, trying how it would feel on his lips, trying to etch it into his brain.

"Yeah. My cats hated my previous landlord. They kept shitting on her porch. I don't blame them." Minho explained, watching Jisung aim toward the opposite hoop. "I would have loved to do the same. Maybe another time."

"Cats are cool," Jisung said, internally scolding himself for the lukewarm remark. He could have really come up with a better reply. "I'm sorry about your landlord."

"It's fine. At least there’s this place. I've been meaning to play more in my free-time."

"I'm here every Sunday, if you ever want some company other than your cats." Jisung wasn’t sure why he was so keen on sharing his Sundays with someone new, but he was always open to making a friend. Especially a friend who seemed to have similar suits.

"Why would I want to be around humans when I can just be ignored by my cats?" Minho posed sarcastically, giggling when he saw Jisung's eyes widen at the thought that Minho was being serious. He quickly added, "Why think about next time already? Let's just have fun now."

After a moment of contemplation, Jisung nodded in agreement, challenging Minho to throw the ball outside the three-pointer line.

"Here's the deal." Jisung begun while Minho was rotating the ball between his hands in preparation to aim. "If you miss this throw, you will have to come next Thursday. I'll have a few of my friends come over, too, and we will just hang out."

"And why exactly would I do that?" Minho mused, raising a brow.

"We'll have free pizza. One of my friends works at a pizzeria, he can get us a pie."

Minho hummed, pretending to be deep in thought.

"Okay...and what if I do make the throw?"

"I don't know," Jisung muttered, "You pick."

"What if I want to play alone?"

Jisung would be lying if he said that his smile didn't falter at the proposition. He managed to disguise it with a nonchalant shrug.

"Then we can agree on a time that the field is all yours and my friends and I will come after that."

Minho casted his gaze down at the pavement, his eyes following the faint white outlines, deep in thought. But it wasn’t long before he raised the ball above his head, watching with Jisung as it landed straight through the net in spite of the challenging distance.

Jisung's eyes lingered on the ball rolling into the grass before making a run for it, more so just to hide the hurt on his face.

He wordlessly walked back to Minho, about to continue playing like nothing happened, until he heard the elder boy laugh.

"Don't look so butthurt!" Minho smiled, his gaze softening. "I'll be there. I just never like missing a throw." He explained, right hand hovering above the younger’s shoulder to give it a friendly pat, before glancing back at Jisung for permission. It was fascinating how fast Minho’s expressions could change. One minute, he looked like he couldn’t get enough of his own voice but in the blink of an eye, he was more like a deer caught in the headlights. Minho was a fascinating guy. "If you are still okay with me joining you on Thursday?"

Jisung blinked at him dumbfounded before feeling his lips extend into smirk. _Right,_ he thought to himself, _it wasn’t like Minho didn’t want to hang out_ . _The game always comes first_ ; nothing personal. Minho was just a guy with principles. Jisung could get behind that. He liked it, even.

While Minho was too busy trying to read his face for an answer, Jisung quickly slammed the ball from between his grasp and made a run toward the hoop, successfully scoring.

"You would've been stupid to say no to free pizza." Jisung commented over his shoulder. He felt light on his feet again, now that he knew that Minho would join him.

"Don't get used to it though." Minho replied, hiding the ball behind his back when it was Jisung's turn again, forcing the younger to chase after him before jumping for the basket in a dunk, nearly causing Jisung to crash into the anchor bolts.

  
They parted a few hours later when it turned too dark to see anything, and they could hear the nearby crickets starting to settle into the grass. Jisung decided to get back at Minho by pretending to steal his basketball, running until they reached the top of the hill, panting for air.

They steadied themselves with their hands on their thighs, laughing way too loudly not to be a disturbance. Minho had even sworn he heard the sound of a window furiously being shut as it shook in its frame, which only added to their laughter.

"So I'll see you next week?" Jisung asked, hopeful. The streetlights began to flicker on for the night just in time for him to take another look at Minho and see him nod.

"If there won't be pizza, I'll go back home to my cats." Minho deadpanned, nearly pushing Jisung to the ground one last time before walking off into the distance with the basketball pressed to his side. Jisung watched, still smiling, listening to the crickets’ serenade and the wind as it whistled through the crumbled walls behind him.

**____________________________________________________________**

"Father Chan had brought the pizza!" Hyunjin rejoiced, greedily pressing his hands together at the smell emanating from the extra large box.

"Whichever coward requested the slice with the pineapple on it, please show your face now so we can kick you out." Changbin asserted, making Chan tut at him in disapproval.

"You guys do realize that tomatoes are also fruits, so basically half of every pizza already has fruit on it?" Woojin added, making Changbin roll his eyes at him.

"I bet he was the one. Catch him trying to pick that slice up when no one's watching." The latter snarled. "But rest assured, _I_ will be watching."

Since small fights like that happened often among them, over time, they became signs of affection, or at least that was what Chan liked to say that they were. Jisung tuned out of the argument unfolding before him, looking over at Minho instead.

Minho was sitting down cross-legged on the pavement, leaning back on the heels of his hands with a small smile on his lips, listening to the conversations. Jisung slumped down next to him, taking in the sight of him, _all of him_ , for the first time. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants, littered in cat fur. His usually straight hair was wavy today, chocolate brown with highlights a few shades lighter tinting every few strands or so. Even under the shirt he was wearing, Jisung could easily make out the silhouette of strong, broad shoulders, reminding Jisung of the monkeybars he used to climb as a child. Jisung’s frowned to himself at the unusual comparison, shaking his head to disperse of the thought.

"Don't worry about them," He began, pointing with his chin toward Chan standing between Woojin and Changbin. "It happens sometimes."

Minho nodded in understanding.

"I was actually the one who asked for the pineapples,” he whispered, leaning uncomfortably close to the younger, “I didn't think it would start a war." Jisung wasn't sure he believed that latter part, but it was hard to think past the goosebumps rising on his skin at the warmth of Minho’s breath, tickling.

"I never thought you had it in you." He replied, pretending to be distraught by the news. Minho smiled at him, something about the movement making his eyes twinkle, and Jisung's breath didn’t make it out of his chest.

He must have been staring at Minho for a long time after that for him to bring it up.

"Is there something on my face?" The elder asked, motioning toward his face.

Jisung waved it off, deciding that it was a good time to join the rest of the group and tug Minho along before the other would take notice of the blush creeping up his cheeks.

By the end of the evening, the temperature had gone way down since the morning hours. With summer around the corner, it was still strangely cold, and Jisung could make out the small shivers running down Minho's body as the wind blew against his sweat-soaked skin and cloths. Jisung didn't even think twice before he was already taking off his hoodie, hardly anything substantial underneath. But he didn't think he would feel cold, not when Minho was shivering beside him.

"Take it." He said, shoving the fabric into Minho's hands unceremoniously.

"What?” Minho stumbled over his words, “You need it! And it's not even that cold..."

"Then I won't need it,” Jisung grinned, “Just put it on, Minho. It's fine." He said, even as he could already feel the shivers. But he managed to sound sure enough to convince the elder and in the end, Jisung was right - he did end up feeling warm enough not to need it. It suited Minho's frame better anyway, that mossy green, his chest and shoulders filling up the fabric just a bit more than Jisung could.

As Minho was adjusting the hems around his body, Jisung caught a glimpse of Woojin, with lips pressed together in a tight smile, trying to hold it back before looking away. Jisung sent him a questioning look, but Woojin pretended not to see it.

Once Minho slouched back down next to him, Jisung stole another glance, and concluded that Minho looked strikingly handsome in his cloths. If Minho would forget to give the hoodie back at the end of the day, Jisung would let him keep it just for that reason.

**____________________________________________________________**

They didn't agree on a next time. Time flew by too fast to think of tomorrow. They didn't make promises to meet again after that Thursday. But Minho showed up anyway, as often as he could, including every Sunday with the exception of one.

That was the day Jisung realized how lonely his private paradise felt for the first time. Paradise was not meant to feel like such a lonely place. He couldn't wait to see Minho again. The elder boy slipped into his life like he was always meant to be there. Not as an addition, not as a new friend, but as if Minho should have been there all along, like a piece of a puzzle finally in place. The realization confused Jisung but he did his best to make sense of it.

For one thing, practicing with the elder made him a better player. He had never improved so much on his techniques as he did while playing with Minho. Minho was quick on his feet, he could jump high, he was athletic and energetic. But so was Jisung and his team. Yet after about two months of Thursdays and Sundays, Jisung began having trouble thinking of Minho as if he was just someone from Jisung’s team. Minho was starting to occupy a different part of his conscious.

"What is Chan doing here?" Minho asked, creasing his forehead as he looked the other way. Jisung turned around, cocking his neck to the side. He didn’t see anyone. By the time he turned back around, it was a second too late. Minho had already taken the ball from his hands and headed straight for the hoop.

Jisung gasped, offended for a moment, before he felt a smirk rise to his lips at the recognition. He charged toward Minho, shoving him to the side until they both fell over. Mid-air, Minho laced his arms around Jisung and switched positions, letting Jisung land on him instead of the ground, although both of them fell mostly on their sides.

Minho, unable to hold back a chuckle anymore, dropped the ball, pushing on Jisung just as the other was about to sit up.

"That was a clear violation." Minho groaned, eliciting a choked laugh from Jisung.

"Oh, yeah? Unless you saw the ghost of Chan somewhere, it's safe to say you deserved it."

"It's so easy to tease you," The elder admitted, his gaze softening. "I can't resist. You should have seen your face light up and all."

"Was it worth it though? How did we not break a bone?"

"We shall see when we'll try to get up." Minho replied, rolling onto his back as he stared up at Jisung trying to brush the dirt off his backside.

Jisung spared him a glance, meant to last little more than a few seconds, but soon found that he couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

It all of a sudden dawned on him that, _maybe_ , Minho was beautiful. At least right now, he liked the way the setting sun gleamed against the elder's tanned skin, from that thin layer of sweat leaving dark blotches on his shirt. His chest was rapidly rising with each intake of breath, and his head was thrown back, letting the sweat trail down from his chin all along his neck. Jisung watched in rapt fascination as it continued its trail down Minho’s Adam's apple until his shirt greedily soaked it up. Coming to think of it, Jisung had seen this many times before; Minho on the ground, breathless, bathing in the remaining warmth of the setting sun's rays. He had seen this dozens of times. But thinking of it more, he felt it all the stronger. Maybe Minho was _always_ this beautiful, and maybe, Jisung always knew it.

"Do you know why you can’t play basketball in the jungle?" Jisung asked, feeling a smile rise to his lips at Minho's confused expression. It was his time to shine.

"What?” The other frowned, “Did you hit your head too hard?"

"Just answer the question. Do you know why?"

Minho shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Jisung felt his heart skip a beat at the sight although he quickly got back on track.

"There are too many cheetahs." He said, awaiting a flood of laughter on Minho's end, but the other looked at him, blinking a couple of times in quick succession, as if Jisung had said nothing. "You get it? There are _cheetahs_ in the jungle, as in _cheaters._ " Minho quirked an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed. "That's you. You are a cheater."

"Was I supposed to laugh?"

"If you had a sense of humor, yeah. But I guess even you can't have it all."

"What was that even supposed to mean?" Minho muttered, "Thank goodness you play better than you joke."

Jisung wiggled his eyebrows, beaming.

"So you _do_ think I'm good, huh?"

"I never said that."

"If you and I were to play against each other for real, we both know I would win."

"Oh, is that so?" Minho smirked, accepting Jisung's hand as the other pulled him up. "Prove it, then."

Jisung felt his heart pick up steam, a chill leaving him in excited goosebumps from head to toe.

"Every match I have, I give it my all."

"My record is a never ending streak of winning," Minho added in reply, smugness written all across his face.

"You're not special," Jisung fired back, trying to spin the ball on his index finger only to have it tip off balance immediately after. He cursed under his breath and Minho's smirk widened in a giggle.

"This is tragic even for you."

"Don't think this is my usual performance," Warned Jisung, trying again. But as he lifted his hand in the air and began to spin the ball, his gaze once again skewed toward Minho like it did during the first time, filling his head with thoughts of him - thoughts of _them_ , going to places that wasn't this court. If he asked, would Minho go with him to the movies? Or was that a corny thing to ask? Do friends go to the movies together? _Obviously_ . Jisung had done that before. Yet it felt different, the thought of going to the movies with _Minho._ Who was a friend, a beautiful friend. But Jisung’s friends were all beautiful. So what made the idea of hanging out with Minho somewhere else so nerve-racking?

He suddenly wondered if Minho had ever felt the way about him that he was feeling about Minho now. What was Jisung even feeling?

"Look at you, you lasted a second longer." Minho mused, stopping the ball that had since spun off course with the hill of his foot. "Very underwhelming for someone who claims they always give it their all."

"It isn't my fault!" Jisung protested, the blood immediately rushing to his cheeks at the realization that he should choose his follow-up wisely.

"Then who's fault is this?" Jisung wanted to scream at the elder. _It's you. You distract me._ "Am I making you nervous?" Minho teased, tethering right along the edges of Jisung’s thoughts, and the younger gulped, his face hotter and redder than what could be explained away by the weather. But if Minho noticed, he didn't show it. He just tilted his head to the side, suggestive, prominent collarbones peeking out from under his loose shirt. It took everything in Jisung to keep his eyes on the unexciting concrete splayed beneath them.

"No," Jisung finally mumbled, shaking his shoulders in an effort to relax the muscle. He could feel Minho's eyes burn holes through him everywhere the elder looked. It didn’t help. "I just had a long day."

**____________________________________________________________  
**

Jisung was starting to have _a lot of long days_. Every day with Minho was a long day.

Most were sunny, but every now and then, Jisung was caught in a rainy day. Rain never bothered him before; he had no problem staying outside and continuing to play. But with Minho, he wanted to be considerate. If the elder was afraid of getting sick, then Jisung would not push it.

As more droplets began to pepper the concrete in tiny blotches, each increasingly loud when they collided with the pavement, Jisung and Minho exchanged a glance.

There was a scent rising in the air that Jisung knew well, cold rain and the hot pavement filling his nostrils until Minho was standing in front of him in the blink of an eye, mixing the rain with the smell of faint wood and spice.

Before Jisung could ask, Minho was already wiggling his arms out of his hoodie to then hold it above themselves. It seemed to be no match against the weather, it was a wonder why Minho would even think of offering his shirt as a shelter, but being so close to Minho, breathing the same rainy air, and the spice somehow sweet, Jisung couldn't come up with a reason to step back.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, but not an angry one. It was excited, and if Jisung didn't know better, he would have thought that it came from his own chest. But there was a second thunder, right in Minho's eyes; both dark and clouded.

The shirt was doing a good job, soaking in the droplets, but Jisung knew it won't last long when a series of lightning flickered across the sky behind Minho.

Moments like this felt bigger than they really were, when the world narrowed down small enough to fit under a held-up hoodie. When this world was held together by two strong and long arms.

"What do you want to do?" Jisung asked, afraid to move or else their noses would touch.

"I want us to stay. Unless you're scared of the thunder." The elder smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung huffed at the remark, reaching a hand toward Minho to brush his wet and sweaty hair out of his face. It was a platonic gesture, something tender he couldn’t resist, even as it made him too nervous to stop his hands from shaking. His fingers threaded through the darkened bangs, combing them back, and he could see the struggle unfold over Minho’s face as the elder tried to keep his eyes open, holding back a sigh. His smirk was long gone, replaced by parted lips, and Jisung could see him gulp, lashes fluttering and wet from the hoodie leaking above their heads. Jisung's touch was gentle and new enough to send shivers down his body blending in with his shivers from the cold. He looked irresistible, the feeling of him shyly leaning into the touch a little intoxicating Jisung.

"Then stop hiding from the rain and let's play." Jisung muttered, stepping out from under Minho's makeshift umbrella. He was starting to feel too eager, he wanted too much too soon. He needed the distance and the cold rain to cool him off. "If we want to be champions, we can’t let the rain stop us."

Minho rolled his eyes, as if he wanted to stay for an entirely different reason, but complied either way, half-heartedly folding and then tossing the hoodie aside to join Jisung.

It only took a minute before the rain got heavier and they were both drenched. Jisung knew it wasn't the wisest thing to do considering the occasional blow of the wind making them shiver more and more. During times like this, Chan had always gone home, dragging Jisung with him, saying something along the lines of _one day not making or breaking them_ and that _it's best to avoid getting sick_. But Minho wanting to stay, even if for only a few more minutes that would mean nothing to other people, even as it won’t improve their performance, made Jisung feel good, it made him want to be here more than ever.

**____________________________________________________________**

A few things changed in Jisung's life besides having Minho's company on Sundays and some lucky weekdays. He began sleeping less, eyeing the ceiling late into the night, imagining the cracks of the wall spelling out words that circled him back to Minho. Minho was like the loud, catchy song on the radio that ends with a soft beat echoing off. Jisung felt the echoes now, filling his head with thoughts of the elder, his melody carrying Jisung through the days. In his more sober moments, when Minho wasn’t around, he knew it was ridiculous. That recognition didn’t stop him from preparing his outfit on Saturday nights, nervous in the earliest hours of the morning whether things match as well as they seemed to a few sleepless hours before. He wore the same things in rotation, the same shorts in another color, the same three copies of his regular and school jersey. Still, he tried to make the best of it. He washed his hair more often, wondering if any stranger with curious doe eyes and broad shoulders in his neighborhood were Minho on his way somewhere.

Jisung just wasn't used to this kind of nervousness pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He used to go to the court to play basketball. Now he went specifically to play it with _Minho_ . Sundays were not about basketball anymore. Sundays were about _them_ , whatever “them” implied. The highlight of every day was hitting the court late in the afternoon to find Minho already waiting for him. He adored making the elder flustered and giggly, unlike his usual guarded persona. He could bring it out of him so easily, even with his worst jokes. It made Jisung feel special.

He loved it when Minho jumped into his arms after a successful throw, or when he smirked at Jisung after a winning streak, calling him pathetic, telling him he needs to step up.

Realizing his feelings for Minho was like watching a seed make it through a storm. It seemed like nothing will grow out of it until he turned around to find it already blooming. Like a good technique, Minho was a habit, built over tireless practice sessions and time. At first, basketball was a stranger, something Jisung was uncertain of, but ended up falling in love with, much like with Minho.

"He plays good." Changbin noted, sweat dripping down his temples as he took a sip of his water that Hyunjin prepared for him with fresh fruits in it. _Talk about being extra,_ Jisung mused to himself. Minho had to leave early so it was just the five of them again.

He knew why Changbin had brought it up. Jisung had lost focus multiple times during the game, and Woojin had caught him staring at Minho's rear until the ball hit him on the head. It still hurt where it collided with his skull.

"And he's handsome. A little out of your league, don't you think?" Changbin continued, more so just to tease Jisung than anything.

"This whole "out of your league" is some big-time bullshit. Who makes these rules anyway?" Jisung jaded, "You like who you like. Besides, I have a unique, manly charm, don't I?"

His friends snickered around him but Jisung remained confident. He had seen Minho in moments none of the other boys did. He had seen Minho with messy hair, eyebags, and face contorted in pain. Chapped lips, bloodshot eyes, all of his not-so-pretty sides, when he is so out of breath that he inhales too fast, choking on his own spit. He had seen Minho on days his cheeks were sunken-in and his skin sickly pale, when all he could manage was a lopsided grin.

But Changbin was right - Jisung found him beautiful anyway. And maybe there was a part of him that was jealous of how someone could appear so spotless even at their lowest. Some days, Jisung wished he could downplay Minho’s beauty, that his lashes weren’t so long that they casted shadows over prominent cheekbones. He wanted to tell himself that Minho’s smile wasn’t as gorgeous, like rolling up the blinds to let the sunshine in through the window, that his hair wasn’t like velvet to the touch, like when the sun faded his hair into a soft chestnut brown, that Jisung’s mind never wandered to how the bites of his teeth and lips would look along the vast expanses of Minho’s skin.

"Why don't you ask him on a date?" Hyunjin proposed, adjusting the sweatband around his forehead.

"I'm not sure." Jisung muttered. He had thought about it before without coming to a decision. Perhaps he did internalize some of that _out of your league bullshit._ "Maybe I should." He said, and the words rolled off of his tongue easier than he thought they would. "I really should."

**____________________________________________________________**

"We have to keep practicing. Get up!"

Minho grumbled something under his breath.

"Then pull me up."

Jisung rolled his eyes, extending his arm for Minho to take, but when he tried to pull the elder up, he felt a force equally strong tug him down. At the next tug, Jisung fell over helplessly, landing with his face flat against Minho's chest. It was shaking with laughter.

"Give me five minutes." Minho said as his laughter frayed into a giggle. "Let me catch my breath first."

Jisung knew his cheeks were inflamed with embarrassment but he still held Minho’s gaze in a challenge.

"But why would you pull me down? That was just mean." He pouted and Minho's arms came crashing down on him like clamps.

"I feel cold and you are warm."

Jisung knew that it couldn't be true, since Minho had never complained about the cold even when he was wearing less, even while he was visibly shivering in the rain. But Jisung liked to pretend he was oblivious when it made things simpler. And right now, an excuse to be enveloped in Minho's arms was simpler than tearing himself away when he didn't want to, albeit he tried to peel himself off of him a little, gathering the shattered remnants of his composure. But it took all of his strength and he ironically began feeling cold. He managed to sit up, straddling the elder who, unlike Jisung, appeared to have no plans of getting up anytime soon.

"You smell like those sour candy packets." Minho whispered, tracing his gaze over Jisung’s face, settling on his mouth before it flickered back up to his eyes. “The ones that pop in your mouth.”

Jisung blew some air in his direction, making Minho flinch in disgust at his breath.

"Maybe because I had that for lunch."

"I smell lemon and chemicals."

"Yeah, it was lemon flavored." Jisung grinned, making Minho chuckle in spite of himself. "Do you like it?" Jisung teased, hands trailing down to Minho’s waist for support.

Minho yelped, leaning as far away from Jisung as he possibly could, caged between the younger's arms and the ground.

Jisung laughed again and Minho's breath hitched, eyes clear and wide and most of all _close_ enough to have Jisung see the blurred outline of his reflection in them.

The elder bit down on his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood, and Jisung decided to ease the tensions by the one thing that, coming to think of it, probably should have done the opposite.

He bent forward, feeling Minho's lips part in surprise before he placed a sloppy, wet kiss on the elder's cheek. Minho’s skin was stupidly soft, like what Jisung imagined clouds would feel like as a child if he could touch them, and his heart raced painfully at the contact.

He didn't notice at first, but as he leaned away, he saw that Minho's eyes must have fluttered shut in the process, because it took him a second to open them again.

"You are a weirdo." Minho commented a few, agonizing seconds later, furiously scrubbing at his cheek where Jisung's lips had touched him.

Jisung, still with a self-satisfied smile on his face, tilted his head to the side, pretending innocence. He borrowed the look from none other than Minho.

"I never said otherwise."

It wasn’t until two days later when Minho grabbed a fistful of Jisung's shirt during their game, out of the blue, sometime after Jisung had thrown the ball and was about to chase after it, kissing him on the cheek the same way Jisung had kissed him.

It was unexpected and unexplained. Jisung didn't do anything to _earn_ or to provoke it. Maybe it was on Minho's mind for so long that he just went for it. Maybe he tried to attack Jisung when he least expected it, like a hunter waiting on its prey.

Jisung wanted to laugh, because Minho probably did it to annoy him and to get back at him, but he could hear his own heart go off in his chest once more, and it wasn't funny anymore.

The initial spark Jisung felt at the touch was deceptively small. But soon enough, the feeling spread throughout his chest and body, setting him on fire on the inside. He did his best not to show the effect it had on him, but Minho knew him well enough by then to read his reactions. And indeed, Minho had his brows knit together when he noticed that Jisung didn't even flinch, only jolted up a bit in surprise, but otherwise welcomed the gesture.

Instead of calling Jisung _weird_ again, or pretending that he didn’t see the desire in his eyes, he pulled the younger back and held his lips against his chubby, hot cheeks a second time, but for long enough to make it mean something more than a joke. Jisung felt it all the way to his bones, simmering under his skin.

When Minho pulled away, they both erupted into laughter at the other's stunned expression, as if none of them believed that what just happened was real. Minho’s eyes were lidded, his face rosy with bashful recognition that he enjoyed it as much as Jisung, that something so small and simple could feel so big and so much, and Jisung wished he could stop time to live in this moment for longer.

_Maybe he should really ask Minho on a date._ But for now, he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it; he didn’t want to chase away this perfect moment by being too eager. So for now, the game went on.

**____________________________________________________________**

If someone were to ask him, Jisung would admit that something had changed between them after the kiss. It was innocent enough to allow them to take it anywhere they wanted it to, but also heavy enough to mean more.

He caught Minho glancing at him for longer, holding his gaze on Jisung whenever it was the younger’s turn to shoot. Even when they congratulated one another, he would quickly sneak him arms around Jisung's waist for a glimpse of a moment before letting his hands fall away, as if he had done something forbidden but couldn’t help himself.

Jisung did no different; he was pouting every chance he got, threatening Minho with another raid of kisses. Minho frowned at him each time, pretending to throw the ball in Jisung's face. But more often than not, his eyes fell heavy on the younger’s lips as if waiting for Jisung to actually do it.

"Would a ball still be a ball if it was square shaped?" Jisung asked, tossing his basketball to Minho. They were idly passing it back and forth, talking, another Sunday in paradise. They were too tired to continue playing but both of them wanted to stay out, and being in each other’s company was more than enough.

"No, because balls are supposed to be spherical." Minho replied, spinning the ball on his finger to demonstrate.

"But if you can throw it, and if it functions like a ball, then isn't it? Footballs aren't necessarily spherical." Jisung supplied, catching it as it was his turn.

"How would a square shaped ball function like a regular ball?"

"If it's light enough, and you can use it like a basketball or volleyball, then why not? Maybe it would require a stronger throw but nothing a good technique couldn't fix."

"My friends usually call me weird. But I guess I've met my worthy opponent." Minho mused, head filled with thoughts of trying to dribble a square shaped basketball.

Jisung wondered whether this was the time to ask. The stars were winking at him, and the sun curiously peeked over the hill to see what would happen next. The leaves of the old tree rustled with the wind, nagging him on, and so if there was a right time, then this moment was it.

Before he could stop it, or make an intricate plan as to how best to go about it, the first words that came to him tumbled out of his mouth gracelessly.

"I'm free next Saturday." He began, pausing to make sure he had Minho's undivided attention because he knew he would never find the courage to ask again. When the other furrowed his brows at him, he took a deep breath and continued. "Are you?"

"I think so...Why?"

"Maybe we could go somewhere? Do something that isn't related to basketball?"

Minho stared at him silently for a second, holding that second in his hands, and Jisung felt like he was standing somewhere unknown, waiting for a door to open. Then, a smirk rose to the elder’s lips. Jisung immediately regretted speaking, his heart doing an uncomfortable backflip.

"Why does it sound like you're asking me on a date?"

"Because I kind of am?" Jisung said, doing his best to muster a smile on his face. Even the sun got too embarrassed to stay up.  
  
But against all odds, Minho replied without hesitation. "Okay."

"Okay?" Jisung blinked at him, mouth parting in surprise. "You mean...okay as in going on a date with me?"

"Yeah. It's not like I have anything better to do that day," Minho sing-songed, confident at first until his voice quieted down all of a sudden, and his cheeks turned into a dusty pink, and there was Jisung's heart, doing that flip again. Moments like this he hoped he could put in a jar forever and glance at on days when nothing seemed to go right. Because today, everything was going right. "I was actually hoping you would ask."

"But then why would you wait?” Jisung exclaimed, voice escalating a notch too high. “You know how much I was agonizing over it?!"

Minho shrugged his shoulder. Jisung got that strange feeling in his chest as if Minho was not telling him something. But whatever it was, perhaps it couldn't be that important.

"I like to play hard to get." He winked, and if Jisung wasn't so happy about the prospects of going on a date with him, he would have punched Minho in the face.

**____________________________________________________________**

Jisung planned the date strategically. Chan had told him that their next match will be on Friday, and Jisung was ready to stroll down that Saturday to the yard and take Minho anywhere the other desired. He would tell Minho all about how he beat his opponent; it was all crystal-clear in his head: a nice three-pointer saving the day, and his family and friends in the crowd chanting his name, the cheers bouncing off the stadium walls. It was all so clear in his head. He even thought of inviting Minho to the game, although he noticed his hands getting a little shaky whenever the elder was watching him. He felt too excited around Minho, always wanting to impress him. It was counter-productive at times, especially when he lost focus during their games, wondering if Minho's lips tasted like strawberries with how plump and red they were, if they would be as soft as clouds like his cheeks were.

Until he got a text from Chan later that Sunday.

"Maybe it's a mistake," Chan offered, suspicious of the sudden silence at the other end of the line. "Jisung? Are you still with me?"

"I don't know," Jisung muttered. He could hardly think beyond the numb thrumming of his brain. Each passing second threatened his confidence. “I need to lie down.”

“I thought you already were.” His best friend muttered timidly. Jisung didn’t reply. "” _Minho_ ” isn't an uncommon name."

"But his number is 25. Minho's birthday is on October 25th. I doubt the coincidence." Jisung could hear Chan turn his head away, doing his best not to sigh into the phone. "What if it's him?" Jisung asked, voice brittle. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to play. That's all I can say right now."

Jisung could feel himself float out of his body and hover by the ceiling. In a moment of subjective reality, he could almost see himself, too, vanishing like vapor. If it didn’t hurt, he would have laughed.

"But I don't want to play against Minho! Chan, _please_..."

"You could call in sick? We have two people on the bench, they could --"

"No! I want to play! It's my everything." Jisung hurriedly added, "I just don't know how I could play against someone I..." He paused, thinking of the right word. "Whatever. I asked him on a date. He said yes. We were supposed to go somewhere together next Saturday."

Chan audibly winced.

"I'm sorry. I never had to play against someone I was in love with," The leader explained, helping Jisung find the word he was looking for a second ago. "I have no idea what it must be like so I don't want to pressure you."

"Tell me what I should do." Jisung pleaded, counting on Chan's wisdom, but the elder was struggling, too.

"If you want to play, I say you should join us. The team needs you, I'm not going to lie, you know that. But, we also love you, and it wouldn't do us any good to see you suffer through the game."

Jisung was an excellent guard. The team did need him. But that didn't make the decision any easier.

He wanted to spend Sundays, Thursdays, or every day of the week really, with Minho, laughing again until there were tears in their eyes. He wanted to see the sunrise dip into shadows against Minho's collarbones, ruffle his hair to annoy him, threaten him with kisses on his cheek, and one day on his lips. One day being that Saturday.

Nothing could ever come between Jisung and basketball. It was a no-brainer. Everything good in his life, it came along with basketball, including Minho. The things and people who didn't belong in his life, basketball helped him let go of them. But he wasn't ready to let Minho go, and for once, basketball couldn't guide him to the right answer.

**____________________________________________________________**

Two blocks to the right, one sharp turn to the left. By early morning of the following day, Jisung was on his way to blow off steam. Next to him, the sea of familiar faces hurrying through their lives continued; people on their way to work, kids on their way to school. With the streetlights still on, he pulled the hood of his sweater over his head so no one would recognize him. Maybe revisiting the place where it all started could help him see clearer. Ironically, he always made his best decisions while too exhausted to think beyond the moment. But for whatever reason, Minho was already there, without a basketball. From afar, his figure blended in with the ruins and the cold blue morning sky, as if he was a statue carved out of the ground on which it stood, the only piece of paradise that remained when time and weather chewed everything else up. He had his hands buried deep in his pockets, hair disheveled, and the closer Jisung got, the more he saw two dark shadows settled under his eyes. He must have had about as much sleep as Jisung.

"So the name was really yours." Jisung yelled over, too impatient not to say something even before he reached the elder.

"You could have texted me if you wanted to confirm." Minho said, his voice tired and strained.

"I was afraid of the answer I would get." Jisung admitted, tossing his basketball aside to have it land on the grass. He glanced back at Minho in front of him, thought of how the sunrise in a few minutes could melt away those shadows. "You know the effect you have on me," He whispered, as if afraid that anyone else beside Minho would hear it. His eyes gazed back and forth on the elder’s otherwise stoic face, and for a moment, he saw Minho's expression crack, his doe eyes softening into a tender look Jisung was much more used to seeing. "It isn't fair…” He complained.

"We turn everything into a competition." Minho said, "What's so different about this one?"

The answer hung above their heads like guillotine yet here was Minho, provoking it.

"I don't mind losing when it's just you and me. In fact, I kind of always want you to win, just so that I can see that stupid smile on your face --"

" _Jisung_ ," Minho glared, a blush rising to his cheeks hot and quick, "Stop being so...I don’t know --"

"-- but this time, there are stakes involved. My performance directly impacts my scholarship money. And it's not just you and me anymore. I have a team I can't let down."

"Well, cool! Same here," Minho spat, hands raised in defeat. Jisung's eyes followed. "So what do you want me to do? There's no way around it."

"I don’t know...I just can't play _against_ you..." Jisung mumbled out loud. It was a thought he meant to hide within himself, but it easily escaped him, turning into an unwanted confession. Not even that long ago, he swore that if he and Minho were to compete against one another, he would win without a doubt. But now there were doubts and they were slowly creeping in.

His team, his family, his friends, journalists, and TV reporters, even grandfathers in the neighborhood who love basketball attended his matches. He couldn’t let them down. He couldn’t let _himself_ down, most of all.

But competing against a friend of his own made Jisung wish he had never started playing basketball. The thought of treating Minho as if he was just another opponent, just another player, another _somebody_ was unsettling. Minho wasn’t just another _somebody._

Jisung felt pathetic. He knew it, but couldn't help it, since Minho was so different from him yet so similar and it always worked out in the end; two matching halves. There was a rhythm to their lazy days and a rhythm to the times when they both were set on humiliating the other. Where will those days go now?

"You can and you will." Minho replied bluntly and Jisung felt his blood boil.

"Why is it so easy for you to say it, huh?" He asked, taking a step toward Minho while shoving him backwards at the same time, making him stumble. "Did you always know that it would come to this? Did you always know that we would have to play against each other?"

When Minho stayed silent, Jisung's eyes widened in horror. Looking back, the signs were there, like an elephant in the room watching them with heavy eyes, all those gut instincts of Minho knowing about something Jisung didn’t coming back to bite Jisung where it hurt the most.

"One time, you came out to play in a jersey with the name of what I realized was your school," Minho paused, licking his lips nervously. A wave of realization washed over Jisung, and he felt the ground slowly slip out from under his feet. "Sooner or later, I knew this would have to happen. Both of our schools are known for their basketball teams. It had to happen."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jisung whispered, the anger morphing into pained confusion.

There could be a million reasons. Maybe Minho was in denial of it. Maybe he didn't want to freak Jisung out, or maybe he was never interested in Jisung enough for the facts to bother him, and all this time, he was using their months together as an opportunity to learn about his techniques. To learn Jisung’s friends', his _team's,_ strategies.

"I didn't have to. What could I have said anyway? So we would have this argument earlier?" Minho huffed, furrowing his brows. "What would you've done? Push me away like you do now?"

"We were supposed to go on a date this weekend, for fuck's sake!" Jisung shouted, his body hunching over the words ripped out of him. And Minho just _stared_ and _blinked_ at him, with a face so full of emotions that it looked like there was nothing there. "What are we going to do?"

"We'll play." Minho repeated, words hollow. Jisung flinched for the both of them.

"Have you even liked me back? Or did you just keep me around so you can get to know my team?"

"Is that who you think I am?!" Minho retorted, frustration rendering him breathless. "I obviously didn't say anything to my team."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Jisung mocked, "I'm sorry that I ever assumed! I'm sorry that I suddenly have a few doubts about our _friendship_. How irrational of me!" He said, feigning regret as he raised his intertwined fingers before his face in a fake plea. "Say you'll forgive me!"

Minho turned his head away with a frown, which made it even harder to figure out his intentions. But whatever they were, maybe it didn't even matter anymore.

A rivalry was fair between two equals. And although Jisung knew that in ability, he could easily match Minho, his feelings complicated things, and Minho _had_ to know that. And if he felt even the slightest bit the same way about Jisung, he had to feel it, too.

Jisung was used to friendships waning away and coming to an end. It was natural. But he never thought that his friendship with Minho could end, especially not in a way so bitter, not when he thought that they could be more - already were.

It felt like he will burn up from the pain. But if Minho felt the same way, he didn't let it show, and it made Jisung all the more upset.

The disappointment and the anger hung above Jisung’s head like a thick cloud of smog. He couldn't breathe through it.

**____________________________________________________________**

Silence was the hardest to overcome, when everyone on the team had noticed the shift in his performance for the worst without saying a word. He was acting like a replica of himself that fell short of copying everything else but had to live as if nothing had changed, because the world around him pretended not to have noticed. Chan's hand was probably in it; he probably asked the team not to bring Minho up, and Jisung understood why; it wasn't a choice as much as it was a necessity.

He avoided going back to the court, too; he didn't want to see Minho before the game, afraid that it would change his mind and he wouldn't feel strong enough to play.

Even then, or exactly for that reason, Jisung missed him. He felt like he had lost a friend, or an arm, or another piece of himself. He looked at his life and saw a hole that wasn’t there before, the puzzle piece that went missing again. Never in his life did he feel so incomplete, and it was a foreign, hostile realization. He didn't know what to do with it. Anytime he missed someone, he would numb himself with the game. But he had nowhere to turn this time, lost in a maze without an exit in sight. And although he missed Minho, he hated him almost as much, and even one was hard to shoulder, let alone feeling both at the same time. Like a parasite chewing its way through an apple, it was eating him alive.

He felt too nauseous to stay in his room so he plopped himself into his empty bathtub to stay near the toilet. He called Changbin an hour ago, asking him to say whatever, it didn't even have to make sense, just so that he could distract Jisung until it was time for them to head out. Changbin told him about how Hyunjin began baking in his free-time, and Changbin was his guinea pig to taste test. The image of Changbin trying to finish a plate of overburnt cookies with too much flour in them at least had Jisung laughing. But since Changbin lived further away from the stadium, he had to hung up sooner, and Jisung was left to keep himself company once more, staring at his plain white ceiling for encouragement.

His attention always circled back to Minho, like a moth to flame, like Icarus with his wax wings unable to resist flying toward the sun once he learned how good flying can feel.

_It's not a big deal_ \- Jisung told himself, pretending that it was the ceiling talking to him. _People come and go in everyone's lives. Not everyone can stay forever._

Jisung wanted to cry but the tears were not coming. It made it all the worse, the unshed tears giving him a headache.

_You'll win_ \- the wall assured him - _Your parents had driven for five hours to see your game. You have to do it for them._ This sounded more like Changbin's voice than the ceiling, but as if the flood gates had been kicked open right after, soon there were other voices drowning it out. At first, he could clearly make out Chan's voice from the phone call, but then it was beginning to overlap with Minho's from their argument on Monday. Jisung eventually lost count of who was saying what, and the sounds morphed into one endless stream of white noise. It only worsened his headache, all the buzz and the chattering as if he was at an airport terminal, so he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking the noise by covering his ears. He made himself as small as possible, letting the tub swallow him whole.

Even when it was finally quiet again, he could hear his heartbeat and labored breathing echo through the tub, fallen bottles of shampoo overcrowding the already modest space.

He knew that the world outside was still spinning, that nothing ceased to exist. Everything will be okay, he knew. It just didn't seem to matter. He knew that the sun will set and rise, that the streetlamps will flick on soon for the night, but also that he was running out of time to leave the house.

By the time his headache drowned out the voices, he had about thirty minutes left to make an hour long trip to the stadium. He climbed out of the tub and stared at himself in the mirror for a long, painful moment; the calm before the storm. He felt the tensions in the tips of his fingers as he held onto the sink hard enough that he could snap the aged wood holding it in place to pieces if he wanted to. But he slowly let it go.

He ran out of the house like a maniac, chasing the last bus that would come for the next 45 minutes. His shoelaces untied, he almost tripped on his way up its stairs, and then again as he tried to find a seat on the cramed vehicle. No one paid him any mind, yet he felt like the whole world was watching.

**____________________________________________________________**

"It's good to see you." Woojin spoke first as soon as Jisung had burst through the door into their changing room.

"I thought you wouldn't come." Hyunjin added, passing him a bottle of water.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Jisung mused around a cough. He was fighting for air, lungs burning after he had ran over three miles when the bus got stuck in traffic. "Have you seen Minho?"

"He waved at us but mostly just looked confused when he didn't see you here."

"And worried." Woojin added quietly, to which Chan gave him a pointed glare.

"How are you feeling?" Chan whispered, leaning down to be face-to-face with Jisung who had since slumped against one of the lockers for support. Jisung nodded his head, bending the emptied plastic bottle in half to then carelessly toss it away into a nearby garbage can.

"I'm good."

"You don't have to play if you don't want to."

"I'm not a kid. Stop treating me like one." Jisung panted, "If I tell you I'm good, then I'm good."

It looked like Chan wanted to say something in return, but instead pursed his lips shut, deciding it wasn't worth the fight.

When Jisung finally got to see Minho for himself, Woojin was right - Minho looked like a mess, even as he was talking and laughing with his teammates, Jisung knew what Minho looked like when he was happy and this wasn’t it. The bags under his eyes hadn't eased over the past five days.

Once Jisung walked out of the hallway behind the bleachers and the players lined up to shake hands, Minho eventually spared him a glance, but other than the exhaustion and stress, Jisung had a hard time deciphering anything else from it.

He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, wondering if he looked worse than he felt. He wondered how two people who used to be comfortable enough to cry in front of each other could barely hold one another's gaze anymore. They shook hands like strangers, as if Jisung's lips hadn't touched those hands before to kiss away a bruise, not just for the laugh of it, as if this stranger hadn't laid in Jisung's arms on cold Spring afternoons when they didn't want to go home despite the weather, when they shivered in the rain, shouting at each other about how this is the dedication it takes to make it into stardom. Everything about _this_ Minho was at once very different and hauntingly familiar. It seemed like as if this stranger's cheeks had never been red before because of a kiss Jisung planted on them, as if their legs had never gotten entangled when they fell together on the ground after spending entire Sundays together, too exhausted to stand, too eager to lay in each other’s arms. It felt like Jisung had just imagined all the times this very stranger looked at his lips longingly, a plea on the tip of tongue to ask for a kiss that he was too shy to voice.

Why was Jisung the only one who seemed to remember all of it? Did it even happen?

As the crowd quieted down, each team took their respective side of the court and the ball was tossed up in the middle. Chan was able to seize it first and thus the first twenty minutes of the game began.

Jisung didn't expect Minho to be _nice_ to him. He often pushed past Jisung while they were playing at the yard but maybe Jisung was just moving slower than usual because Minho kept nearly knocking him over. _"Don't look so butthurt!"_ Minho had told him when they first met, _“I'll be there. I just never like missing a throw."_ It was true - Minho was always a guy with principles. _Nothing personal._

Somewhere in his drowsy consciousness, he heard Chan yell at him to " _Move!_ " He didn't even notice that he had been standing in one place.

When it was his turn to throw the ball, Minho stood in front of him to block the way. For the second time that day, they looked into each other's eyes, but Jisung felt too dizzy to make anything of it. He once again heard his team yell at him to throw the ball before the five seconds would pass and they would have to give it to the other team. Fortunately, even as Jisung's brain wasn't awake, his reflexes were alert, and he passed the ball to Hyunjin at the very last second.

Minho looked over his shoulder as he ran after the ball, confused. Jisung knew why he was confused - they had been in this situation many times during their plays. Jisung knew that all he had to do to trick Minho was to spin toward the right. Although Minho was ambidextrous, he often leaned toward his left side during games, and it was one of the easiest tricks Jisung could pull on him. But Jisung didn't do it this time, and Minho pretended that he didn't know why.

The first twenty minutes went by in a blur - Changbin got them a foul as he made a run toward the hoop and knocked a player on the opposing team to the ground. Hyunjin and Chan scored the most points for the team, getting them at 39 points until Woojin threw a three-pointer and got the team up to 42. It was a close tie with Minho's team having 46 points, but Chan was growing impatient with Jisung's lackluster performance. It was the first time ever that Jisung hadn't scored enough for the team by halftime.

He glanced toward his parents and saw his mother's mouth gaping in shock. So many people came to see him, as usual, and they had no idea what was happening. Jisung felt his heart deflate with disappointment. He was hanging by a thread and it was thinning with each second.

When their fifteen minute break rolled around, Chan called the team together in a circle. Everyone leaned in, making sure the other team wouldn't hear them as they talk.

"You look so tired, Jisung," Chan said, worry lacing his voice. "Maybe you should skip until the next time-out?"

" _What?_ " Jisung’s reply turned into a growl..

"Hey," Chan sighed, softening his voice. Jisung hated it; he hated how his best friend had to tip-toe around him and think twice, as if Jisung was too fragile to take a hit. "Your heart’s not in it right now. You can't play if you’re not fully with us. I know this whole Minho thing has hurt you --"

"Do you know what I'm _actually_ tired of?" The younger barked, twisting the towel between his hands passed to him at the beginning of the break. If it was something sturdier, it would have long snapped by then. "I'm tired of people thinking I'm so easy to hurt and feel like they should baby me. I'm tired of making my team worried for my _fragile little feelings_. I'm tired of Minho thinking he has something to him I don't. I didn't start playing basketball just to have people think of me as the first who should sit on the bench. I'm tired of losing focus and feeling weak for a guy who has no problem playing against me. Fucking look at him!" Jisung exclaimed at the scoreboard. Minho wasn't performing the best on his team, but he still scored more than Jisung. It made Jisung furious. “You have to hype yourself up, you know? You have to believe that you are the best in the whole entire world. Even if deep down, you know that it isn't true because if you don't believe it, the insecurities and doubts will crush you even before the fight has begun." Jisung paused, the taste of salt bitter on his lips as the sweat kept dripping down his face. "So maybe I feel weak right now. But that's not what I need to hear. I need you to hype me up. Yet here you fucking are, my own leader, my best friend, trying to get me on the bench."

"I'm just..." Chan began, but pursed his lips shut right after. Jisung knew what he wanted to say. _I'm just worried about you._ But Chan was smart and knew that it was the last thing Jisung wanted to hear. He didn't want anyone's pity. "Alright," Chan exhaled, immediately giving out orders and laying down a game plan for the next round. There was a change of tone. Changbin and Woojin were collectively hollering beside him in approval. Chan was stern like he was the days before Minho came along. Hyunjin gave Jisung a confident thumbs-up. His team was here to keep him strong. He immediately felt better.

And like invisible chains that Jisung had kept wrapped around himself, he slowly let his inhibitions go. He felt his heart banging against the walls of his chest in anger. Each beat echoed through his body, each one faster than the last. With blood in his eyes, the energy seemingly out of nowhere pooled in the pit of his stomach.

He knew people usually thought of him as someone too sweet for his own good. A part of Jisung always hated that reputation. He wanted people to like him, he liked the praise. But when he played, the last thing he wanted was for people to mistake his kindness for weakness.

When he played, he charged forward, his smaller frame compared to some other players still catching them off guard. He wasn't as tall as Hyunjin, wasn't as strong as Woojin, wasn't as fast as Changbin, but he was still the one to score the majority of the points for them every match alongside Chan.

During basketball, he could be in control, and share the glory with the people closest to him. The people who loved all of him, even the part of him that wasn't so kind, the part of him that cursed too much when frustrated, the part of him that wasn't afraid to shove people to the side on his way to the hoop. When he was not playing, he pretended that even the smallest pinch to his chubby cheeks hurt. But during the game, even a broken arm couldn't stop him. He needed basketball like he needed air, to remind himself of the stronger bits of himself he usually didn't need outside of the game. He wanted to be known for something more, wanted people to remember him as someone powerful. Basketball was his therapy, just him and the hoop, out on the field, until one by one, the street lights turned on and off.

Then came Minho. And he took it all away. Jisung didn't want to win so hard anymore. He lost that balance. The feelings inside him sprouted like stubborn weeds that nothing can get rid of once they set root in the soil. And like soil, Jisung's heart couldn't help but nurture them, however toxic. Here he was, in the middle of a game that mattered, giving up the fight before it even started. Where did the old Jisung go if he wasn't here?

When the buzzer went off signaling that the fifteen minutes were over, Jisung finally felt the ground steady under his feet and he was able to run again. He didn’t feel tired or nauseous anymore. Minho was almost in front of him, a few feet between them. They spent enough time together for Minho to know what Jisung looked like when he set his mind on winning, and Jisung could have sworn he saw Minho’s lips twitch upward. Jisung shook his head, dispersing of the thought. He rather took it to be the stadium lights playing tricks on his eyes. It was easier that way.

For the remaining half of the game, Jisung was back to his old self. It took everything he had to find himself again but when he did, the results on the scoreboard quickly tipped in his favor.

In the last minutes, Changbin scored the team three points with a layup, and when Woojin passed the ball to Jisung, it was up to him to score the last few points that could give them the victory. He had five seconds to make the shoot, and he could have sworn the entire world was staring at him in that moment.

Thousands of people were crammed inside this stadium. There were cameras broadcasting the play on local TV channels all over the city. The squeaking of the shoes stopped as everyone on the field awaited Jisung's next move. Jisung was starting to get those jitters like it was his first night all over again. His first match, the day he learned how to handle the weight of thousands of people judging his technique, his look, his everything. He had fans sitting on the bleacher, he had haters. But he didn't feel small; he felt good, he felt like there was no place in the world he would rather be. He remembered mossy green chalk on his fingertips, grass brushing against his shins, feet sinking into the mud, and Spring rain in the air. He took a deep breath.

Every eye that wanted him to fail, every eye that wanted him to succeed. Which one Minho was, Jisung couldn’t help but wonder as he raised the ball above his head for one last time, and watched it fly through the field before closing his eyes for a second, remembering back to different times.

The first time he tried throwing the ball in the hoop when he was six years old, it didn’t go through. He missed it with a long shot. He was too short and his arms too weak. But he saw those people on the TV, cool and happy, dunking the ball left and right, and he saw himself among them. He knew that there was plenty of space for him to stand beside them one day. Fourteen years have passed and some kid at home must be watching the TV right now, thinking that there is plenty of space for them to stand beside Jisung, too.

When he reopened his eyes, he was able to catch the ball going straight through the basket, with the net waving from the impact, and he could hear the bouncing of the ball against the floor once it had landed. With only ten seconds remaining, the other team had no chance to make up the five points they were behind. Even before the winners were officially announced, Jisung knew that they won.

With a 109 against 104, Jisung and Chan ran straight toward the rest of the team scattered around the court to collect them in a group hug.

It wasn’t their highest score. They didn’t break any personal records. But they won and it couldn’t have been done without either of the members missing, including Jisung.

He wasn't feeling the best he had ever felt. But he was breathing, Jisung was still breathing, and _J.One was still king_ .

Even though he scored the team their last points, Changbin's three-pointer was critical for the team's success, so they decided to lift him up above the ground, cheering with the crowd who came to see them succeed. As Jisung was holding his leg, chanting Changbin's name along with the team, he looked to the side to find Minho amidst the rain of confetti. He was standing with his team, everyone except him facing their coach who was yelling with the vein on the side of his neck showing. Jisung frowned at the sight but Minho looked unbothered. There was a blonde boy laying on the floor, out of breath, looking like he was about to pass out. The standing members were all nodding along to the coach's chastising. Yet there was Minho, his eyes starry and bright as he looked at Jisung's team, specifically Changbin getting tossed up into the air. He was laughing and whistling as if he was among the people who came here to cheer for Jisung.

Eventually, their gaze met midway and Jisung could feel his heart throbbing in his throat. He must have looked ridiculous with his mouth wide open but Minho didn't seem to mind as he flashed him a brilliant smile followed by a failed attempt at winking. A chuckle escaped Jisung at the elder's cheeks turning bright red in embarrassment.

Even if it only lasted a few seconds once Minho had to turn back toward his coach and get his share of the scolding, Jisung was left feeling weightless. He couldn't stop grinning. From the side, it seemed like that Minho was still smiling, too.

Maybe one day, when enough time had passed, they can both look back at this match with a smile on their face. Perhaps this was just the price to pay for having friends who are your equal. Maybe it won't be so long until that day.

**____________________________________________________________**

"I would like to make a toast to Jisung for getting his shit together halfway through the game," Changbin said, tapping a plastic fork against his cup as they were sitting inside the pizzeria, most of the food already gone.

Chan invited all of them for a " _celebratory feast_ ," as Woojin liked to call it. It was part of their post-game ritual after every game. But for once, it felt incomplete. Jisung knew why, so when his phone buzzed with a text from Minho, he excused himself from the table without a second thought and walked straight to where he knew he would find him.

Minho was already there, lazily making a few two-pointers.

"I wasn't sure if you would come." He said as Jisung came to a stop beside him.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know…” Minho mumbled, even though he knew why, “Because you were mad at me. Because I was mean to you."

"You were right though." Jisung said, catching the ball as Minho passed it over to him. "I made a big deal out of it. I was afraid to lose a friend or that the competition would change things between us. I guess I was actually the one doing that."

"But we are more than friends, aren't we?" Minho asked, hopeful. His eyes had never been wider, and his voice had never sounded so quiet, so desperate. Jisung's lips curled into a grin.

"I think we always were. Even if you didn’t act like it."

Minho casted his gaze down. "I'm sorry that I yelled at you before. I was panicking and I was scared that we would turn into rivals, so I tried to play it off. I thought that maybe if I didn’t show that I’m nervous, we’ll get through it easier."

"And are we rivals now?" Jisung asked, his own voice failing him this time. Luckily, he didn’t have to repeat himself.

"I'll always be happy for you,” Minho replied, “If you win and I lose, it doesn’t matter. I'll always support you, even when I'm on the other side of the game. Because I know that when I win, you'll be the first to cheer me on." He said with the same confidence he would say that the sky was blue, that it was Summer, that he missed Jisung throughout this whole ordeal.

“But didn’t you say you had an _endless streak of winning_? That’s gone now.”

“I’ll get over it.” Minho said before nonchalantly adding, “Everyone loses one day. And that includes _you._ ”

"Does this mean you’ll still go on a date with me?" He mused, passing the ball back to Minho.

"Isn't this already one?" The elder grinned, feigning confusion and hurt as he threw the ball toward Jisung again, hard enough that it would knock the younger out of breath.

Jisung felt warm. He felt lucky.

"Why do you want to lose two times on the same day so badly?"

"Who said I would lose? It’s your turn."

Jisung suddenly imagined themselves, fifty years from now, walking sticks in hand and wrinkles deep, still arguing over who was a better guard when they were younger. Feeling a smile rise to his lips at the thought, he wouldn't want it any other way.

"Alright," Jisung said, accompanied by a dramatic sigh. "I might let you win this time."

Minho scoffed, "I can't wait to wipe that stupid grin off your face."

It was good to know that their friendship was stronger than to let competition get between them. Maybe this match was a blessing in disguise all along, opening new doors that will take them to a better place.

"A kiss would do the trick, you know." Jisung teased, not expecting that Minho would walk up to him like a man on a mission, wrapping his arms around his waist. Jisung swallowed hard when he felt the elder’s lips hovered above his ear with a smirk.

_"If_ you win," Minho whispered, “We can kiss all you want.”

Jisung cheek’s heated up at the suggestion. The stakes had never been so high.

**Author's Note:**

> “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.” - Lucius Annaeus Seneca


End file.
